And when I say “touchy” I mean “poke it with a stick and I will annihilate you.”

I really don’t like my name.

Over the years people have complimented me on it, told me it was extremely original, and said things like, “Oh that’s so pretty! I bet you’ve never met anyone else with that name!”

And I haven’t.

Because my name sucks. I’ve noticed that everyone who compliments me on my name is called something like “Mary,” “Martha,” or “Jean.” No one with a name like “Latisha” or “Bon-qui-qui” ever tells me my name is “original” or “unique.” They just shake their head and say, “Girl, I understand.”

Something strange happens when brown folk name their children. They could have been living in these here United States since the 1700s, but as soon as they produce progeny, you would think they just stepped off the boat into the new world. They may be more American than they are African, but they WILL name their child an “African” name just to prove that they are in fact black.

Unfortunately, they are so far removed from the continent that they end up naming their children things like “Shaneequa” or “Dekwan.”

I went to Kenya. I did not meet any Africans with a “la”, “sha”, or “da” at the beginning of their name.

I had two legitimately African friends as a child and their names were Bamakole and Tawakalitu.

Those are African names.

Barack is another African name.

Shatifa not so much.

I say all this to say that when my brown parents named me, they felt as though they had to pay homage to their African roots. Mind you our family has been living in the West Indies for quite some time. We’re more West Indian than we are African now. However, my parents, Herman and Carol aka He-Man and Chi-chi felt that they should give their children names that reflected their heritage.

So they named us Timothy, Akira, and Gyasi.

Tim lucked out.

Me and Kira not so much.

For those of you that have studied Japanese culture or watched any anime in the last twenty years, you’ll notice that “Akira” is actually a Japanese boys’ name.

According to He-Man “Akira” is Chi-chi’s fault.

He-Man: I wanted to name her ‘Kira’! I was all ready to name her ‘Kira’! That’s a good, strong African name. Then your mother added the ‘A’ and made her Japanese.

At least Kira has the option of going by “Kira”. That’s a nice silver lining to have at your disposal.

I was not so fortunate.

When I tell people that my name is “Gyasi” they hear “Jaycee” which is fine. However, as soon as they see my name on paper all hell breaks loose.

Person #1: Who is this “JAH-see” person I keep seeing copied on our emails? I’ve never seen him or heard of him. Is he new to the program?

Me: Actually that’s me.

Person #1: Really? That’s how you spell your name?

Me: Yes.

Person #1: How do you pronounce that?

Me: Jaycee.

Person #1: No really how do you pronounce that?

I know this post sounds incredibly bitter, so let me clarify: the name “Gyasi” in and of itself does not suck. What is sucky is the fact that I’m named “Gyasi”.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog post, “Gyasi” is actually an African boys’ name that means “wonderful child.” Why on earth would you choose to name your obviously female child “Gyasi”? Because you’re my mother and you apparently want to teach her at an early age that life’s not fair.

When I interrogated Chi-chi yet again about my name this is what happened:

Me: Out of all of the names on earth, why did you choose “JAH-see”?

Chi-chi: I didn’t name you “JAH-see” I named you “Jaycee”.

Me: What put the name “Jaycee” in your head?

Chi-chi: At one of my old jobs there was a man named “John Cacamo” and he went by “J.C.” He was really nice, so then I started to like the name “J.C.”

Me: So why didn’t you just name me “Jaycee” or two names that made “J.C.”

Uncle Nigel: (on his iPhone) I checked out this website and it says “Gyasi” is a very popular name in Maryland.

Chi-chi: Your father wanted you to have a unique name.

Me: So you chose “JAH-see.”

Chi-chi: I named you “Jaycee.”

Me: You gave me a boys’ name.

Uncle Nigel: According to Google there are 28,000 people in the United States named “Gyasi.”

Chi-chi: That’s a lot of people!

Uncle Nigel: That wouldn’t even fill a football stadium.

Me: How many of those “Gyasis” are women?

Uncle Nigel: Two.

Me: And I’m one of them.

Uncle Nigel: The other woman is called “Stephanie Gyasi.”

Me: So it’s not even her first name.

Uncle Nigel: Nope.

Chi-chi: You’re not helping.

Uncle Nigel: I wasn’t trying to.

Me: You gave me a boys’ name.

Chi-chi: The book where I found your name said it was a unisex name from Indonesia.

In order to do this, I’m going to tell you the story of the half-marathon in about 13 parts.

Also, I have no other blog material so I’ve got to milk this for all it’s worth.

The Friday before the marathon my sister and Emmalyn the Gremmalyn flew in from NY. Their flight was supposed to arrive at 1am in Fort Lauderdale. At 11:45 pm, I went to sleep in my car for a few minutes. Nearly two hours later I awoke with a start and said, “Why on earth am I still in Fort Lauderdale? Nobody wants to be in Fort Lauderdalefor this long. People who live in Fort Lauderdale curse their existence on a daily basis. Why am I still in Fort Lauderdale?”

Then my sister called.

“Our flight was delayed. We just got off the plane. I’ll meet you at baggage claim.”

Ok, so maybe she didn’t say those exact words because my sister doesn’t make rhymes when she talks.

Anyway, I met her at baggage claim to discover that Emmalyn the Gremmalyn was hopped up on Benadryl and had slept through the entire flight. My sister, on the other hand, was hopped up on adrenaline and decided to tell me everything that had happened to her for the last six months. She was as energetic as a jackrabbit on 12 shots of espresso. I found this especially intriguing because according to her, she hadn’t slept more than 3 hours a night for the last week. When I don’t sleep, I become the creature from the black lagoon. When Kira doesn’t sleep, she becomes Richard Simmons at an overeater’s anonymous meeting.

There was way too much pep in her step.

When we got home I was ready to collapse in bed. I had been up since 5am Friday and it was now 3am on Saturday. Kira claimed that she was tired, but she was actually telling lies.

“I’m going to bed now.”

“Wait, help me change the child.”

“Let her sleep in her urine. She’s done it before.”

“That’s gross. I need face wash. Do you have face wash?”

“Take whatever you want.”

“Where are my pajama pants?”

“Do you really need pajama pants?”

“Do you have pants I can borrow? I can’t find my pants.”

“Take these pants.”

“Why is there a hole in the crotch of these pants?”

“So it’s easier to pee. Go to sleep!”

“Is that my birthday present?”

At 7am on Saturday morning I woke up because in the hustle and bustle of trying to go to sleep, I forgot to turn off my alarm clock. Never before have I wept so early in the morning. We had brunch with our cousins, Seth, Katie, and Ariel to celebrate Kira’s birthday, and then we set off for Orlando. I don’t know how this happened, but somehow WE decided that I would drive first since Kira hadn’t slept much in the last week.

I’m still not sure how WE decided that.

We were about 20 minutes into the drive when I said, “Ok, Kira, make sure you get some sleep so you can drive when I ge- Kira? Kira?”

She answered me with snoring.

I drove all the way to Orlando.

When she woke up, she felt very refreshed.

When she woke up, I felt murderous.

We arrived at the ESPN center in Disney to pick up our packets, racing shirts, and other random crap they throw at you before a race. We were standing in line when Uncle Nigel called me.

“Yes, Nigel?”

“Did Kira pack her shoes?”

“Kira, did you pack your shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Nigel, she packed her shoes.”

“Ok, because there are some gray running shoes with neon green stripes sitting in your room.”

“Are your running shoes gray with neon green stripes?”

“…Yes.”

“Uncle Nigel, she forgot her running shoes.”

There was no way on God’s green earth that we were going to drive three hours home to pick up her running shoes. As it was, we had to check into our hotel by a certain time or we would lose the reservation. Thankfully, He-Man, Chi-chi, Emmalyn the Gremmalyn, and Auntie Rachel (sorry, Auntie, I don’t have a nifty nickname for you yet) were planning on coming to the race. They changed their plan slightly so they would get to Orlando by 8pm so Kira could get her shoes. That was when I remembered that I hadn’t packed any jogging pants.

Don’t ask me why I apparently wanted to run sans pants.

Off to Target we went.

Did you know that the Super Target in Orlando has an entire section devoted to Disney merchandise?

We didn’t.

Kira entered and just about lost her mind.

“Oh my goodness! Look, Gyasi! I want to get something for Emmalyn!”

“Focus! I need pants!”

It took us about an hour to make our way through Target. Emmalyn got a pair of Minnie Mouse socks. Kira got a purple running shirt. I got pants.

All was right with the world.

My parents were in Orlando by the time we got back to our hotel. At 8:30pm I was ready for bed. I hopped into my bed, pulled the covers over my head, and readied myself for a long winter’s nap. About 10 minutes into that long winter’s nap, He-Man, Chi-Chi, Emmalyn the Gremmalyn, and No Nickname Auntie arrived at our hotel and woke me up. They brought Kira’s shoes and loud voices. While Kira was grateful for the shoes, I was ungrateful when it came to the loud voices.

Around 9pm, He-Man and No Nickname Auntie went to another hotel to stay the night. Emmalyn the Gremmalyn stayed with Kira and I because she had to sleep with her mother. However, this meant that Chi-Chi also had to stay with us because someone had to watch the Gremmalyn when we left for the race in the morning.

Once again, I got into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and readied myself for an average length winter’s nap. Then Kira got into bed and scratched me with her gnarly toenails.

Me: Get out of my bed.

Kira: You don’t want to sleep with me?

Me: No.

Emmalyn: Auntie Gyasi!

Me: Hello, Emmalyn.

Emmalyn: AHHHCHOO!

Me: Where’s the Benadryl?

Chi-Chi: Kira, it doesn’t make sense for her to sleep with you and Gyasi because then she’ll wake up when you two get up for the race.

Me: I’m covered in toddler snot.

Chi-Chi: Gyasi, come sleep in my bed.

Me: You have cold feet.

Chi-Chi: Ok, why don’t Emmalyn and I sleep together?

Kira: I want to cuddle with my child.

Emmalyn: Auntie Gyasi!

Me: Where’s the Benadryl?!

Chi-Chi: I guess all of us could sleep in one bed.

Me: Mom, you sleep with Kira. Kira, you sleep with Emmalyn. Emmalyn, you sleep with your mother.

About two weeks ago, Chi-chi and I were talking in the kitchen about Emmalyn. Chi-chi said, “You really need to watch what you say around your niece. She’s picking up words really quickly.”

“I don’t say inappropriate things around her.”

“You may not think what you say is inappropriate, but she’ll repeat it at an inappropriate moment.”

“Well, I call her ‘stinky’ or ‘monkey’ sometimes, but those are pet names. Like how Auntie Rachel calls me ‘doo doo’….why does Auntie Rachel call me ‘doo doo’?”

“It’s a pet name.”

Flash forward to this morning; I’m talking to my sister on the phone. Kira is in one of her “I told you so” fits and she’s ranting and raving against a co-worker she knew was no good.

“He quit just like that! All I had to do was think about firing him and he quit! Gyasi, it was almost too easy! I mean, now the boy has no job, no ambition, no plans, and two baby mamas! I don’t know what these people see in him! He’s a dirtbag! A complete dirtbag!”

In the background I heard an almost two-year-old voice say, “Dirtbag.”

When I told Chi-chi she went on one of her “I told you so” laughing fits.